Mr Carson is the New Year's Baby! (nope)
by deeedeee
Summary: It's not actually Crack!Fic. It has nothing to do with the title. ...Set one week after the Season 5 Christmas Special. SPOILERS ABOUND FOR S5 CHRISTMAS SPECIAL. Carson and Hughes, and a little quality time.


**A leetle New Year's Eve one-shot.**

*****SEASON 5 CHRISTMAS SPECIAL SPOILER ALERT*****

* * *

They'd been engaged for a week.

Quietly.

Although they thought perhaps Mrs Patmore had detected a change.

But they'd kept it private, a small, growing thing between them.

They thought they would let it lie, let it brew, let it blossom. Whatever it was going to do, because they were both... _happy_.

_Unheard of._

They thought they'd break the news to their employers..._soon._ After the New Year.

So, tomorrow.

There was some slight touch of trepidation, he supposed. Wondering how his Lordship's reaction would be. Not to mention her Ladyship the Dowager Countess. He wasn't as worried about her Ladyship, the current Countess. No, her Ladyship was more modern than most, he thought.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a fraction of a smile; his hand tightened on hers as he raised his cup of tea.

"Penny for them, Mr Carson."

He looked up at her, letting his smile grow.

"I was just thinking about how we should tell them."

She smiled back at him.

"Well, we should tell his Lordship and her Ladyship first, don't you think?"

They had both agreed that they would keep working for another two or three years if they were allowed to stay as a married couple. And if not, well. Their house beckoned. A smaller place to run together, _really_ together.

After all, that was the point.

"Yes, yes, of course."

"And then we can tell our brood down here. Mrs Patmore first, though. Although she's hardly part of our brood; I'd say she has her own..." She trailed off.

He looked up at her, glad of her flustered words (_he wasn't alone _—_ not in this trembling joy, nor anything else anymore evermore till death us do part_), stunned again by her quiet beauty and the realization that she'd said yes, she'd said yes, she'd said yes, and they would be together, and all would be well.

He smiled through the tears that started to well in his eyes — something he'd done a few times since Christmas Eve. She smiled back at him.

"Oh, Mr Carson."

Since that night, her voice had taken on an unabashed tenderness in their moments alone together. Now for the first time, she reached out to touch his face. He froze, his expression calm and hopeful. He closed his eyes just as she touched him, her thumb brushing a tear away. Then he opened them again and looked at her with an expression of such open adoration that it made her heart speed up.

* * *

After she'd accepted his proposal, they'd stood together for a few moments with her giving his arm a comforting squeeze. Their hands had touched momentarily, holding their punch glasses in the small space between them. Then they'd pulled back, raised the glasses to one another, and sipped. He'd been unwilling to move his arm, unwilling to break contact, so he'd kept it there, somewhat stiffly, but no matter.

Soon they'd finished the punch. He'd reached away, placing his glass on the table next to them, then done the same with hers.

He had turned back toward her and she had started to let her hand slip away from his arm. He'd looked at it, fleetingly, then back up to her face. She looked up from her hand and met his eyes. It had only been a few seconds since he'd set their glasses away.

"If I may be so bold, Mrs Hughes…?"

He had smiled shyly and opened his arms to her. And her smile was bright, beaming, so different from the one — sincere, supportive, but forced nonetheless, concealing a pain so old she scarcely noticed it anymore — that she'd given him when first offering the punch to him.

She'd stepped into his embrace. For the first time, he had wrapped his arms around her and she had leaned her head on his chest, her arms around him.

It was perfect. It was enough. And after long minutes had passed with them simply breathing together and letting this be _real_, they had pulled back, smiled at one another, and exchanged quiet words — _they'll wonder_ and _ought to go up_ and the like. Irksome, necessary things.

* * *

Now they sat together, chairs pulled close around the little table in her sitting room, her hand warm on his cheek until nerves took over and her fingers went cold, but his hand soon covered hers, reassuring her. She leaned closer, taking his other hand.

"Mrs Hughes, may I —"

"I hope you will."

And he blinked, smiled, felt rather stunned, to be honest — and leaned in. And they kissed for the first time, the door unlocked, risking discovery but not _quite_ caring this late in the game — _live a little, a proposal at my age_, _hold my hand if you need to feel steady_.

A soft, chaste little thing, that first kiss.

And they would have liked to linger, but it was New Year's Eve and there were things to do, preparations to be made so that the family would leave them all in peace for the evening.

Their kiss at midnight, locked away in her sitting room, was _entirely_ different.

* * *

.

**Happy New Year, darlings! I wish you health and peace and joy and really great food in the new year and always!  
**And really great sex, if you're so inclined. I wish you that too.


End file.
